


A Different Kind of Intimacy

by PhryneFicathon, Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: BFFs, Friendship mind reading, Gen, Girl Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Elizabeth MacMillan knows her friend Phryne very well—they’ve known each other for too long not to—and yet she’s surprised that Phryne knows her too.





	A Different Kind of Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/gifts).



> For the prompt: “To have someone understand your mind is a different kind of intimacy” (and, a tiny bit, for [this gif](https://media.giphy.com/media/oREYgWSnE2Lhm/giphy.gif))
> 
> I don’t know who said this quote, but I have to admit, I loved it—I hope that you love what I’ve done with it, dear prompter!

“Hello, darling!” 

The words rang out high and bright, cutting through the noise of the crowded bar. Heads turned across the room, and expressions ranged from awe to lust as Phryne Fisher slid through the packed club with aplomb. Mac took a sip of her whiskey as she watched, amused, the effect her friend had on a room.

After a moment, she swiveled her head away from the crowd without changing her comfortable lounge, her back to the long, curved bar that ran across the back of the club. She supposed that she should be surprised that Phryne had found her here—and by the tone of her greeting, she’d expected to—but she wasn’t. Phryne was a detective, after all. 

Mac surveyed her friend; as she often did when out on the town, Phryne wore sparkles tonight, and the determinedly cheerful silver-over-yellow of her dress skimmed her body faithfully, ending in a jagged hem that hovered around her knees. When she danced, Mac was certain, that hem would float up and display her very nice legs to mid-thigh. Phryne’s dancing dresses always did. Her jetty hair was topped with a sparkling silver headband that dripped with beadwork, and her silver mary janes looked like they were made for dancing.

“Phryne Fisher,” Mac drawled, doing her best to hide her pleasure in her friend’s unexpected company. “I was just thinking of you.” It was true—she’d been watching the crowd and considering its possibilities, but at the same time, turning over her findings from the latest case she’d been consulting on.

She met Phryne’s eyes, making sure that her appreciation of her friend’s outfit was evident in her raised eyebrows. Phryne hated spoken compliments—they so often covered less generous intentions—but adored knowing that others found her beautiful. 

“What brings you out tonight?”

Phryne shrugged, though Mac could see the small squint to her eyes that telegraphed discontent. Still no change in her relationship with the inspector then. Odd—it had been two weeks since Phryne had returned from England. Mac had thought the two of them would be tearing up the sheets by now.

“I wanted to go out, and I thought I’d find you here,” was all Phryne said.

“What can I get you?” The bartender, a strapping young man with dark hair and bedroom eyes that probably netted him at least a few extra tips, smiled at Phryne, his teeth flashing white in the dim light.

Phryne spun to face the bar, and sure enough, her skirt whirled up to flash her knees. Mac smirked as she lifted her drink to her lips, watching as Phryne leaned close, flicking on her charm like a switch.

“I’m _dying_ for a whiskey,” she drawled, reaching to touch the bartender’s hand. “The best you’ve got.”

“Oh, I’ve definitely got the best,” he retorted, his voice dropping to a low promise. In case the meaning in his words wasn’t clear, he let his gaze drift down to where her breasts plumped at the edge of her bodice, then back up again to meet her eyes. “I’ll take good care of you.”

“Thank you,” Phryne mouthed, her lips and tongue shaping the words soundlessly, their movements practically indecent. Mac shook her head and looked away as the young man hurried to fill the order.

“That’s not very nice,” she said quietly, when Phryne turned back to her. “You’re giving him ideas, and I doubt you’re planning to follow through.”

Phryne shrugged. “At least he’ll have pleasant dreams.” She eyed Mac, her eyes considering. “And anyway, what makes you think I wouldn’t follow through?” Turning back to the bar, she accepted the glass the young man passed her, letting her fingers stroke his before turning back to Mac. “He’s just my type, really. Young, athletic, and beautiful.”

“Is he? I thought your type had changed. Something more along the lines of experienced, dour, and ruggedly handsome.” Raising one eyebrow, Mac met Phryne’s eyes.

Phryne’s mouth twisted a little, disappointment in the crooked line of it, and she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter what my type is if I’m not his type too.” 

Mac frowned a little and opened her mouth to comment—that was definitely not what she’d have expected to hear—but before she could comment, Phryne took a sip of her whiskey, and her expression changed to surprised and pleased. 

“Oh, this is delicious.” Turning, she caught the eye of the handsome bartender and lifted the glass in a toast, blowing the young man a kiss.

“At any rate,” she said, turning back to Mac, “I didn’t come here tonight to find a man, or even talk about one. I wanted to spend time with you.” Hitching one hip onto the stool beside Mac, she looked out over the crowd. “Anyone in particular you fancy?”

Mac eyed her friend. She could tell that Phryne was truly unhappy with whatever had been—or hadn’t been—happening with the inspector, but also that she didn’t want to discuss it now. Fair enough, but that didn’t mean Mac would leave it alone forever. Phryne wouldn’t ask for help, so it was up to her friends to offer it. And if ever there were two people suited for each other, it was her friend and the inspector.

“Who says I’m looking for companionship?” She said instead, her tone mild.

“Darling, you are practically strutting.” Mac could hear the relief in Phryne’s tone, though no one who didn’t know her would have noticed it. “Do you know that lovely young woman in the green dress?” Phryne went on with a wave of her hand toward the dance floor. “If looks could kill, I’d be on your morgue slab right about now.” 

Mac took another sip of her drink, knowing that it was pointless to stall, but feeling it was worth the attempt anyway. She did know that young woman—her name was Cecilia, and she had arrived tonight on the arm of a young man, even though she’d spent the previous Saturday evening writhing in pleasure on Mac’s sheets. She’d come—more than once—and gone, leaving Mac with the impression that she was ashamed of having romantic feelings for someone of her own sex.

“We’ve met, yes,” she drawled. “She doesn’t know what she wants.”

She felt Phryne’s gaze, knowing that her friend had read her meaning and probably inferred more. Phryne leaned in to put her lips near Mac’s ear in what would look, from the outside, like she was saying something naughty. 

“I’m not sure I like her, if she hurt you, but if you want her, I can help her realize her mistake.”

Affection rushed through Mac. She and Phryne had never been lovers, though they’d tried. Their kisses had been awkward and hilarious, and they’d both agreed that if Phryne was to experience love with a woman, it would have to be someone other than Mac. She knew that Phryne had experimented, later; she’d reported back that although she didn’t discount the pleasure the fairer sex could bring, she preferred what a man brought to the bedchamber. Mac loved that she was willing to act outside of her own inclinations to make it clear to Cecilia that if she didn’t want Mac, others would.

“Thank you, darling,” Mac murmured, turning to brush her nose against Phryne’s, “but I’m all right. I remember what it’s like to think yourself aberrant. She’ll find her way, and I’ll go mine.”

“All right, then.” With a quick smile, Phryne let her forehead rest against Mac’s for a moment, then turned back to view the room. She leaned close, her hand wrapped around her whiskey as she sipped, her shoulder resting companionably against Mac’s. 

“What you need,” she said quietly, “is a woman who knows her own mind and who likes herself the way she is. Someone who will see just how wonderful you are and know that you deserve the world.”

“And where am I going to find a paragon like that?” Mac covered the sharp pang of yearning that Phryne’s words evoked with a dry humor. “Why don’t you also stipulate that she’s beautiful, good in bed, and independently wealthy to boot?”

“Aim high, darling,” Phryne replied equably, taking another sip of her drink.

“For the moon, more like,” Mac muttered. Truth be told, she wanted love—someone who’d understand her, who’d stand beside her, whose strengths would shore up her weaknesses, and for whom she could do the same. Her friendship with Phryne had all those things, it was true, but Mac wanted more. She wanted attraction and arousal and release; she wanted a sexual partner she could learn over time until her reactions were deliciously familiar. She wanted her own happily ever after. In other words, she wanted the moon.

“If that’s what you want, we’ll find it.” 

For a moment, Mac thought she’d spoken her wishes aloud—she turned incredulous eyes on Phryne, who looked back at her with warmth in the tilt of her head.

“How long have we been friends?” Phryne raised one eyebrow, a smile teasing at her red lips.

Mac cocked her head and took a sip of her drink. “Too bloody long,” she murmured.

“I know you, Mac,” Phryne said, giving her a little push at the shoulder. “I know that for all your bluster, you are a romantic at heart.” 

She whispered the last words as if they were a secret—and really, they were. Mac could feel the flush rising to her cheeks. Damned redhead complexion! She should have known, though, that Phryne would remember the times their talks had turned to love and happy endings. Should have known that Phryne would remember that the kinds of stories Mac liked to read when she had a moment to spare from her studies were the ones about love, even if most of them featured a male hero rather than two heroines.

“We’ll find your princess charming, I know it.” Phryne threw back the last of her drink and signalled to the bartender for another round. “And until then, you’ll have fun kissing all the frogs.”

Mac sputtered out a laugh as Phryne grinned and plucked her empty glass from her fingers, replacing it with a new one.

“Now,” Phryne said, settling in beside her. “I think you should go introduce yourself to that one.”

Mac followed the languid gesture Phryne made with her whiskey glass to a woman seated at a table beside the dance floor. She had dark hair, golden skin, and curves that went on for miles. Her lips were painted a deep crimson and her dress was the same hue; it shone with beadwork from neckline to hem, and it left her rounded shoulders and arms bare.

Her eyes were on Mac.

“Oh,” Mac said stupidly, feeling the impact of the woman’s gaze like a hand stroking her body. 

“Go on then,” Phryne said mildly.

Mac went. 


End file.
